Just a Cough
by Deb Zorski
Summary: Basil falls seriously ill in between cases, unable to admit he might need help in getting better. Inspired by artwork. Friendship fic.
1. Chapter 1

_**A/N:**_ I should _not_ be starting a new work, not without finishing at least one other... but inspiration strikes! This piece inspired by a GMD artwork of the same title, by sapphiregamgee over at DeviantArt. Many thanks for the permission to write a fic around that artwork. **~DZ~**

* * *

What started as a tickle in his throat at the start of the morning was interrupting Basil mid-sentence with choked coughs only a few hours later. He struggled to inform his client of the arrest of the madman who strangled her sister to death, growing increasingly frustrated with himself. He could barely get out more than a few words at a time, and every so often he'd even be cut off between syllables with a wheeze.

"Mr. Basil, you don't sound very well," his client noticed worriedly as she handed him a glass of water. "After all you've done for me, I hope you haven't taken ill."

"This helps, thank you." Basil nodded gratefully as he lied to her, every sip of the water stinging his throat instead of soothing it.

"I can't thank you enough for solving my sister's murder." The lady mouse's eyes watered as she reminded herself of the tragedy and Basil did his best not to wince at her emotions. "You've brought our family the closure we needed. Truly you did."

"Yes, well," Basil cleared his throat, setting the water glass on the table. He'd hardly drank it. "I'm happy to be of service, madam." He nodded at her briefly with a flash of a smile before rising to his feet. "I apologize but I must leave. I have another case tomorrow morning."

"Yes, of course. You must be incredibly busy." She dabbed her eyes with her handkerchief and sniffed delicately. "Thank you again, Mr. Basil."

He tipped his deerstalker cap to her in his gentlemanly fashion but sank against the stairway railing once the front door was closed behind him. His sigh of exhaustion quickly dissolved into harsh coughing, after which he groaned softly and shut his eyes against a wave of dizziness. The walk back to Baker Street would be incredibly long.

* * *

After an exceedingly long day of patients, and a fear that he would forever be trapped in his consulting room, Dawson was glad to see the unmistakable deerstalker cap of his friend making its way through the crowd of workday-weary mousefolk.

"Basil! Basil, my dear fellow!" Dawson shouted eagerly in catching up to his friend on the corner, frowning in dismay when he heard Basil cough deeply.

"Yes, Dawson… I presume it has been a long day for you?" Basil sounded positively exhausted, looking a bit pale as he regarded the doctor. "Otherwise," he continued, reacting to Dawson's astonished expression. "You would not be so delighted to see me walking back to our rooms at Baker Str-" his last word was abruptly cut off as he was seized with a painful bout of coughing, bringing his fist to his mouth to cover it, his arm pulled closely to his aching chest.

"Oh dear, Basil…" Dawson knitted his brows in concern as he looked both shocked yet uneasy at the sound of his friend's health. "You don't sound at all well."

"Just a cough, Dawson." Basil smiled wanly as he assured his friend of such trifles. "Nothing to worry about. Besides…" he cleared his throat, grimacing as he swallowed, "I have another case to begin in the morning. I have no time to be ill."

Dawson shook his head with a wry smile. "Illness doesn't respond to your logic nor your busy schedule, Basil. If you truly are sick then your case must wait while you rest."

"No need to-" Basil started coughing again, "worry yourself." He had to physically stop walking, leaning forward slightly and bringing both hands to his face to cover his coughs, each one harsher than the last.

By the end of the fit his hands trembled even as he shoved them in his coat pockets, while he drew a quick steadying breath and glanced at Dawson with his usual confident air. "I'm fine."

"Very well, Basil." Dawson murmured worriedly, grateful that they had reached the door of 221 1/2 Baker Street. If Basil were to collapse, at least they were home, and at least the sitting room couch was warm and comfortable.


	2. Chapter 2

Dawson went to work once they were inside, rushing to Mrs. Judson while Basil went on ahead of him up to the sitting room. Basil's poorly hidden coughs and wheezes as he ascended the stairs made Dawson cringe, and outright sigh once he heard several explosive sneezes before the slam of a door. Dawson covertly urged Mrs. Judson to prepare not only tea, but broth as well, all while ensuring the fire was well-made enough to last the night if necessary.

"Quite the list, Dr. Dawson. Is everything all right?" Mrs. Judson asked worriedly.

"Basil has most definitely taken ill with a very serious cough. I fear it may worsen." Dawson again adopted the same look of concern as when he first heard Basil's breathing.

"Dear me… the insufferable mouse, always pushing himself to his limit!" Mrs. Judson _tsk_-ed in disapproval. "He's lucky to have you care for him, Doctor Dawson."

Dawson winced at such praise. "That's part of the problem, Mrs. Judson. He won't admit to feeling unwell. You know how stubborn he can be, especially when he wants his work to come above all else."

"But he must _rest_ if he is in such poor health!" Mrs. Judson emphasized, like a protective mother hen.

"I have explained that to him, but he is intent on starting a new case tomorrow morning. We must humor him for now, and let him think he is well enough to continue. Eventually he will admit to his illness and allow us to take care of him." Dawson sounded assured of his prediction.

"I certainly hope so." Mrs. Judson shook her head as she hastened to the kitchen to prepare the tea and broth.

Dawson quickly went upstairs and soon found himself outside the door of the sitting room, hesitating in his entrance. He knew caring for Basil could be trying at times, as Basil often acted no better than a sick child. But getting him to admit his illness was the worst of all. Basil would cling to dignity and stubbornness for as long as he possibly could, adamantly denying his sickness until he collapsed from it.

Basil was near to that very collapse, Dawson feared, as he watched his friend sway dangerously in his stance in front of the fireplace. Dawson rushed to steady him, blocking Basil's feeble attempts to swat him away.

"Dawson," Basil urged, his voice already sounding hoarse, "What are-"

"You were about to _fall_, Basil. I doubt the floor is forgiving should your head crash into it." Dawson's grip slipped on the wool of Basil's Inverness, which he still wore in spite of the fire's warmth. Dawson felt his friend shiver with chills even under the capecoat. "Sit, Basil." Dawson nodded to his friend's favorite armchair beside them. "Take off your coat and-"

"I'm _cold_." Basil insisted petulantly.

"I'll get you a blanket and we can pull you closer to the fire if you like." Dawson suggested. "Mrs. Judson is bringing up tea and some dinner… soup, I think. Quite perfect for such a night." Dawson turned from the window where the bushes lay quivering in the wind. "You must be hungry after such a long case."

"Not in the least." Basil sniffled quietly, trying not to be heard, moving slowly as he fished inside his greatcoat for a handkerchief. "The case was enough to satisfy me."

"You _must_ eat, Basil, _especially_ if you are to start a new case tomorrow." Dawson reminded, just as Basil let out a huge sneeze. "Bless you." He saw Basil wince in pain as his fingers flew to his forehead, massaging it gently. "Perhaps once you eat you might feel better," Dawson offered quietly, watching Basil immediately remove his fingers from his forehead and glare at the doctor in annoyance.

"I feel quite alright, thank you _doctor_." There was a clipped tone of irritation on every word. "Merely a chill." He shivered, leaning forward in his chair to warm his hands. Dawson was quick to drape a blanket over the detective's shoulders, which Basil wrapped tightly around himself to stop his shaking. Dawson suspected fever when he saw sweat trickling past Basil's temples. He'd have to wait for an accurate reading with a thermometer… if Basil would ever let him near enough to take his temperature.

A knock at the sitting room door revealed Mrs. Judson, laden with a large tray but still looking cheerful for Basil's sake. "Dinner, Mr. Basil? I brought you tea and crumpets as well."

Basil never turned from where he faced the fireplace, curled in the blanket with only his tail peeking out from beneath. "Thank you, Mrs. Judson. On the table will be fine. I'm sure Dawson will tell you how delicious it is."

Mrs. Judson might have smiled at her tenant's usual snarkiness if he hadn't sniffled and coughed after his statement. She exchanged worried glances with Dawson but tried again. "You must have had a hard day, Mr. Basil." She offered gently, watching the tiny perking up of his ears as she intrigued him with her observations. "You're looking quite pale."

"Simply tired, Mrs. Judson." Basil replied flatly, his curiosity crushed when he realized her observations were only a ploy. "_Very_ tired." He emphasized, and she got the message, shrugging at Dawson.

"Sleep well, Mr. Basil." She replied earnestly, keeping her voice loud enough so Basil could hear, "Make sure he eats something, Doctor." Hopefully in knowing that both she _and_ Dawson were concerned, Basil would succumb easier.

Dawson looked over at his friend once Mrs. Judson had left. Basil hadn't moved from his blanketed place in the armchair, nor had he removed his coat and hat. Dawson sighed inwardly, knowing Basil's stubbornness was his own worst enemy.


	3. Chapter 3

Basil had eaten a few bites of the soup at best, and roughly half of _one sip_ of tea. He outright refused crumpets, which Dawson knew were his absolute favorite. Basil's normal appetite was minimal at best, but refusing his favorite snack was an unmistakable sign that Basil was very sick. Basil slept fitfully after dinner, the fur on his face now completely blanched of color except for an angry red flushing on his cheeks, sweat soaking his fur. His coughing fits came more frequently, along with a moan of pain after each had ended. His paws were balled up into fists as he fought invisible enemies, every so often drawing his arms back into his chest, trying desperately to rid himself of the pain there. His thrashing in bed told Dawson the pain, whether related to nightmares or not, was complete body aches. Basil was hurting everywhere, and Dawson had to do something.

Basil jolted awake at a sudden nightmare, erupting into coughs triggered by his gasp for breath upon awakening. Dawson was at his side, wasting no time as he thrust a thermometer into Basil's mouth.

"Dawson!" Basil mumbled indignantly.

"Basil, I won't stand for your useless arguing. It's time to admit to _yourself_ that you are most unwell, and that I and Mrs. Judson will help you get better." Dawson was resolute in setting the rules.

"How completely-"

"No talking, Basil."

Basil sat back in bed, crossing his arms in frustration as they waited for the reading to finish. After a few minutes, Dawson removed the thermometer, watching his friend push the blanket away one moment then hurriedly wrap himself in it the next as his fever fluctuated between sweats and chills.

"Let me tell _you_ what I can observe." Dawson told Basil seriously. "You have a serious cough that's settled in your chest, acute sneezing, no appetite, a pounding headache, sweating, flushing, chills, tiredness…" Dawson held up the thermometer for inspection, dismayed at the results. "And a fever of 101." By now, Basil looked very sheepish, and quite pathetic as he shivered and sweated in his blanket cocoon. "What can you deduce from that?"

"I'm sick." Basil said quietly, looking positively miserable.

Dawson nodded. "Very sick. With flu. And your case tomorrow is out of the question. They will have to wait until you are well."

Basil sighed, but it turned into a desperate cough. "How long?"

"If you follow my directions, a week at the very least." Dawson told him matter-of-factly.

"These will be very strict doctor's orders." Basil realized, continuing to cough and feeling Dawson lean him forward to help him catch his breath. Basil knew Dawson's military resolve wouldn't last long when battling with his kind sense of caring for others. A glass of water was thrust in his paws once the coughing subsided, with Dawson trying to remain authoritative but only looking concerned instead.

"Drink. I mixed in a sleeping powder so you can rest."

Basil smiled as he did so, feeling safe and cared for in the company of his truest friend. "Thank you, dear doctor." He settled in bed, finally able to lay comfortably under the blankets as the sleeping draft took effect.

* * *

Knowing that Basil was on his way to a full recovery eased Dawson's troubled concern enough so that he could finally fall asleep. At Mrs. Judson's insistence he slept in his own bed, instead of in a chair next to Basil's, so that he could be of use to Basil the following morning. Dawson hadn't been asleep for more than an hour before Mrs. Judson frantically shook him awake.

"It's Mr. Basil! He… he didn't know who I was! He thought I was a criminal and tried to arrest me!" Mrs. Judson's tears streamed down her face.

"No, no, Mrs. Judson." Dawson was quick to calm their shaken mousekeeper. "It's merely his sickness talking. Of course he knows who you are. I'll keep him sedated… he won't hurt you again."

"Perhaps you can talk some sense into him and bring him out of it, Doctor." Mrs. Judson begged. "That crazed look in his eyes, bright and glassy as they were… oh, it will haunt me for weeks! I'm so worried for him!" she admitted.

"There, there, Mrs. Judson." Dawson placed his hand on her shoulder as she sniffled sadly. "These hallucinations are simply an effect of the fever. I'll administer a sleeping draft and he'll be resting quietly soon enough." Dawson stretched as he got out of bed, mourning the small hour's sleep he had gotten and fearing that might be the most he would sleep that night. Hallucinations were a very bad sign; Basil had taken a downturn.


	4. Chapter 4

Dawson hurried to Basil's bedroom, now very worried of Basil's condition. If he was bad enough to scare Mrs. Judson, who could usually take anything the mouse detective dared to throw at her, then he had become far worse than Dawson had ever imagined. He opened the door cautiously, hoping that Basil's attack of Mrs. Judson had been nothing more than the result of Basil's nightmares. Perhaps his friend had returned to bed and was asleep, forgetting the attack on their dear mousekeeper and recovering from the fever that had fried his sense of reason.

Dawson realized he was hoping for the impossible when he was tackled to the floor upon entering, his mouth gagged shut with a white handkerchief as Basil worked at trying to handcuff him. Dawson successfully inched himself up to the wall, blocking Basil from his hands by pinning them behind his own back. Basil looked as though he had lost his mind: eyes dilated yet glazed over, fur dripping with a sheen of sweat, and a crazed grin of triumph.

"You've walked right into the trap I set for you and your partner. Now that you've got _yourself_ up against the wall, my job is half done," Basil sneered. "You contemptible fiend."

"Basil!" Dawson shouted, having finally freed himself of the handkerchief gag. "I'm no criminal! It's me, Dawson! Your friend and _doctor_."

Basil barked a laugh to mock his friend's words. "The goodly doctor would never let a criminal like you corner me in my own bedroom. He's much too loyal. The only possible conclusion is that you and your henchwoman have taken him hostage."

"Basil, that's quite enough!"

"Yes, yes it is, for I have had quite enough of you." Basil pounced then, trying to wriggle Dawson's hands out from where they were wedged up against the wall. Dawson wouldn't budge, trying to think up a way to calm Basil down. A sedative wouldn't work now, since Basil was too suspicious. But perhaps if Dawson just played along for a little while, he could get Basil back in bed.

He slammed his back against the wall, eying Basil warily, "The greatest detective in all of mousedom such as yourself, Basil, surely must have known..."

Basil cocked his head to one side. "You won't trick me this time," he warned Dawson menacingly. "You're merely a pawn in Ratigan's much larger plan. Leaving you and your henchwoman here will allow me to save Dawson and tackle your sewer rat of a boss."

Dawson looked shocked, then annoyed. "Curse you, Basil of Baker Street. How did you know?"

Basil only smiled in triumph. "There's no hiding from justice. Surrender now and I'll have the authorities sentence you lightly." He stood up, hands on his hips. "Instead of life behind bars, perhaps only-" Basil stopped suddenly, swaying. Dawson immediately stood, trying to steady him, but Basil pulled away as if Dawson's gentle touch had burned him.

"Stay where you are!" Basil shouted in warning, even though he was already staring straight on at Dawson. His eyes didn't stay focused for long, however, as they rolled back in his head and Dawson rushed forward to catch him once he fell backwards.

"Mrs. Judson!" Dawson called for help. "My medical bag from the sitting room, quickly!" Dawson eased Basil gently down to the rug, placing a pillow from the bed under his friend's head. He injected Basil with a small dose of morphine to keep him asleep while he and Mrs. Judson struggled, but succeeded, in getting him back into bed. Just as soon as Basil was nestled under the quilt, he threw it off in his sleep, again fighting imaginary criminals.

Dawson hoped that was the worst of Basil's illness. He wasn't sure if any of them could handle a week's worth of hallucinations and attempted violence.


	5. Chapter 5

Basil was in and out of delirium over the next few days, unsure of what was real versus what he was imagining. His world sometimes shifted and spun around him fast enough to make him vomit. He often heard his name called frantically only to find himself alone upon awakening. He had nightmares of catching criminals in mock triumph, for all the arrests were only traps set by Ratigan to hold the mouse detective hostage. Basil would often wake covered in sweat yet still shivering under layers of blankets.

"Dawson," he called weakly in seeing his friend open the bedroom door, feeling lucid for a moment. "Are you here?"

"Yes, Basil. I'm right next to you." the doctor replied gently.

"I had to be sure, Dawson." Basil sighed heavily. "I cannot tell what is real anymore."

"Your fever is very high and you've been hallucinating. But Mrs. Judson and I are taking good care of you." Dawson placed a cool washcloth on the forehead of his fever-worn friend. "There you are, old chap."

"Dawson," Basil urged suddenly. "Everywhere I turn I suspect Ratigan may find me. He… he plans to take me hostage! You mustn't let him find me!"

Dawson shook his head. "They are only nightmares Basil. They aren't real. You're safe here at Baker Street, and no criminal will come to find you."

"Dawson, you are the only one I can trust." Basil smiled as he sank back against the pillow, closing his eyes. He jumped at the prick of a needle in his arm and saw Dawson leaving his room.

"Dawson?" he called nervously with no answer from his friend. "Dawson!" He grabbed his arm where the needle prick had been, as it was starting to throb. "What was that you injected into my arm?" Basil was alone now, for he heard only silence throughout the house. He looked down again to see the wound bleeding profusely, having grown to the size and depth of a bullet wound. He was bleeding all over the bedsheets and feeling lightheaded. "Dawson! Come quickly! I'm hurt - please, someone!" The sheets and quilt were sopping in it now, as Basil's cries grew fainter until he could no longer fight the overwhelming feeling of sleepiness.

* * *

Basil woke with a start to complete darkness, feeling the comfort and softness of his own bed. He glanced up quickly, seeing the familiar ceiling and small window off to the right. He was in his own bedroom, at Baker Street. He was perfectly safe.

But every so often he felt himself crying. The wetness soon spread down his cheeks as he gasped for air. Every time he closed his eyes he saw the beginnings of those terrible dreams again. He mustn't fall asleep - he couldn't be subjected to what he thought was so real. Something had to be done about them, immediately.

After lying in bed, hiccupping and sobbing rather pathetically at what he knew were irrational fears, Basil shakily rose from bed and stumbled over to his mirror, peering at himself in the dark. He squinted, rubbing his paws vigorously over his face, trying to rid his eyes of their puffiness and sniffling to clear his nose. He stopped suddenly, feeling a trickle of wetness where tears hadn't made their path in his fur. He reached up carefully behind his ears and brought down his fingertips in front of his eyes, squinting in the dark. He gaped in horror and disbelief, feeling the backs of his ears again and again. Each time he saw more blood growing darker and wetter on his fingertips.

Instead of calling for help, he merely whimpered and fought back fresh tears. If anyone caught him surely they'd hurt him worse. No, he must keep this a secret. No one could know he was hurt. No one could know what he saw. They were his demons to fight.

Basil kept gasping for breath, feeling as though he were unable to relax. His heart pounded within his chest as the room started spinning. Briefly, he realized he was hyperventilating in his panic, but he was too scared to think up a plan as to what to do. He tried to get back in bed, but fell to the floor before he could reach the mattress.

Dawson ran upstairs after he heard a distinct _thud_ from his place in the downstairs sitting room, lighting the gas lamps to see Basil unconscious in the middle of the floor and shivering. Dawson knitted his brows in worry, realizing that if Basil wouldn't help himself get better, then he and Mrs. Judson would force the detective to.


	6. Chapter 6

Dawson was resolute: this time he would not, under any circumstances, leave his friend's bedside. It was clear that Basil needed constant care in order to protect himself from accidental self-injury. Luckily, Dawson had thought of a way to keep Basil safe from himself and handcuffed the detective to the bed. Dawson felt very guilty for having to resort to it, especially since he knew Basil would be upset at his newfound imprisonment. But Dawson realized it was necessary for Basil's safety, no matter how much of a fight his friend would undoubtedly start with him.

Dawson heard the clank and struggle as Basil woke up, thrashing against his bonds in sudden distress. "Basil, Basil! Take it easy, old boy!"

"Dawson! Dawson, what's happening to me?" his friend sounded utterly panicked, eyes darting about searching for his quickest escape.

"I'm sorry, Basil, but I had to do this to keep you safe and-"

"No, Dawson, no! You don't understand! I'm _bleeding_ Dawson! Behind my ears, I'm _bleeding_!" Basil was outright yelling on his urgency, and Dawson caught a glimpse of fearful tears glistening in his friend's eyes.

"Basil, you're fine. You're not-"

"I _am_ bleeding! Please, you must check!" Basil struggled against the cuffs again, stretching his fingers out desperately to try and feel behind his own ears. Sweat dripped down his fur as he thrashed about, fear and panic gleaming along with the tears in his eyes.

"Basil, please, you must relax. You'll never recover this way."

"I can feel it dripping onto the pillow Dawson! Unlock me if you won't check yourself! I can _show_ you the blood!"

With a sigh, Dawson reached his fingers up behind Basil's ears, feeling nothing there, and withdrawing his fingers to prove the point. "You see, Basil? No blood. You're fine."

"You're sure?" Basil questioned fearfully.

"I promise." He turned his fingertips over to show how they were perfectly clean. "There's nothing there. Why did you think you were bleeding?"

"I don't know, I don't know…." Basil trailed worriedly, eyes darting around again, chest beginning to heave in panicked breaths. "I can still feel it back there, Dawson. Why can I feel it? You lied to me! I really _am_ bleeding!"

"Basil, these are hallucinations from your fever. They're not _real_. You are _not_ bleeding and you are _not_ in danger, I promise you." Dawson nestled his friend further into the blanket previously retrieved from the floor, finally getting Basil to look at him. His friend's eyes now spilled tears, and still held a frightened look, but also begged for trust and safety. "Look here, my hands are clean," Dawson showed his fingertips again. "You are perfectly safe."

"Dawson," Basil sighed in exhaustion, but for once sounding partly like his old self. "I am quite tired. Do you think I might rest awhile?"

Dawson smiled at his friend. "Basil, that sounds like a marvelous idea." Dawson worried as Basil arched his head back into the pillow, momentarily wiping the back of his ear on the sheet to try and check for bleeding himself. "Basil…" Dawson warned.

"Merely getting comfortable." Basil smiled wearily as he turned his head to the side, relaxing as best he could while still handcuffed to the bed. "Would you mind unlocking me for the night?"

"If I do, you'll scratch your ears off in your distrust of me. Not until the morning." Dawson felt like a terrible friend as he saw the look of disappointment on Basil's face. Dawson watched his friend's inability to relax and sleep curled on his side as usual due to the limitations of the handcuffs.

"Dawson," Basil murmured feebly as he was drifting asleep. "I have a terrible headache."

"Merely from lack of sleep, Basil. You'll feel better in the morning."

"Dawson?"

"Yes, Basil?" Dawson settled back in his chair by his friend's bedside.

"Will I be all right?"

Dawson gulped at his friend's helpless plea. "Of course you will. I promise to get you well again." Dawson promised himself to do just that, no matter what it took.


	7. Chapter 7

Dawson frequently woke during the night to check on Basil, each time relieved to find his friend safely still in bed. Eventually Dawson moved out of Basil's bedroom and fell asleep on the sitting room sofa, lulled to rest by the light of the dying fire. He had only been asleep for a moment when he felt someone gently shaking his shoulder.

"How is he, Dr. Dawson?" Mrs. Judson asked him, eyes wide with worry.

Dawson rubbed his eyes wearily, blinking against the morning sun. He must have slept through the night, and hopefully, so had Basil. "He seems to be returning slowly to his old self." Dawson nodded with an encouraging smile. "Last night was a bit of trouble, but I think he'll be making a full recovery."

Mrs. Judson sighed in relief, putting a hand to her heart. "Thank goodness! I was getting so worried. Perhaps some breakfast for you both?"

"That sounds delightful, Mrs. Judson." Dawson agreed, realizing how hungry he was. "I won't wake Basil just yet, so keep his warm and just bring up mine for now."

Dawson stretched in getting up from the sofa, vowing never to sleep there again as it hurt his back greatly. He drew aside the curtains, admiring how the sun and clouds battled for dominance in the sky. It seemed to speak to Basil's state of health and the struggle Dawson had been enduring in trying to get him well again. But, Basil would prevail, that Dawson was sure of. A few days of rest, with Dawson's careful supervision to ensure Basil would actually _get_ some rest, and things would be back to normal in no time.

The relaxed and easy smile dropped immediately from Dawson's face once he opened the bedroom door and saw Basil's _empty_ bed. He grabbed his coat and hat haphazardly and struggled to slip on his shoes as quickly as he could, stumbling over the coffee table and rushing down the stairs.

"Mrs. Judson!" he cried frantically, just as she dashed in from the kitchen holding a fresh pot of tea. "Basil has gone missing!" The teapot shattered as it landed on the hardwood floor of the foyer.

"Doctor, you _handcuffed_ Mr. Basil to have him stay in bed. I don't understand…" Mrs. Judson, utterly shocked by the news, hadn't yet noticed she had soaked the rug with tea and china shards.

"I don't have an explanation, Mrs. Judson. I am only worried for his safety… and others," Dawson realized fatefully. "Particularly if he is still delirious."

"Shall I come with you?" Mrs. Judson asked dutifully.

"It would be better if you stayed here. Perhaps he will wander back home once he becomes lucid." Dawson buttoned his coat and began his search for his fevered friend. Dawson had absolutely no clue of Basil's trail, or his destination. He only hoped his friend wasn't unconscious in the middle of a busy street.

Dawson bumped into a child standing on the doorstep just as he was leaving, happy to see it was one of Basil's hired agents. "Frederick, I'm so glad you're here. Have you seen Basil?"

"'E's the right one who sen' me 'ere, Doc. 'E told me to fin' ya and bring ya to him, straightaway like." Frederick nodded dutifully, motioning to the carriage behind him. "'E wanted ya quick, sir."

That was all Dawson needed to hear. He jumped into the cab with Frederick and ordered the driver to speed along the streets, tipping him heavily for doing so. In all the rush, Dawson hardly had time to notice they had pulled up outside a hospital. Frederick led the way, bypassing the shouts of angry nurses demanding he stop, with Dawson following behind.

Dawson expected his friend to have multiple bruises and open wounds, possibly unconscious from a head injury. However, when they finally arrived at Basil's room, the detective was sleeping peacefully in a hospital bed.


	8. Chapter 8

_A/N: So, my faithful readers, I will leave the decision up to you. This feels a bit unfinished to me, and I would like to add one final chapter (Chapter 9). Agree or disagree? Comment or PM me. **~DZ~**_

* * *

"He was in a delirious state, Dr. Dawson. We had to care for him. It's a very good thing he came to us when he did."

"But Basil _hates_ hospitals," Dawson explained to the head nurse currently detailing the situation. "I can't understand why he would come here of his own free will."

"Because, dear doctor," Basil interrupted a bit groggily from bed, eying the two as they stood in the doorway. "I was most concerned for you and our landlady."

"Basil!" Dawson exclaimed joyfully at hearing his friend's voice, leaving the nurse to stand by the detective's bedside. Basil gently waved the nurse away with an apologetic smile for Dawson's uncharacteristic rudeness, and the two mice were alone. "How did you-"

"I picked the lock." Basil answered easily. "It was considerably difficult, seeing that my hands were cuffed. It was why I begged you so to unlock them in the first place."

"Basil, how could I have trusted you? You were delirious with fever!" Dawson defended, astonished that Basil was completely lucid now.

"I realize that, Dawson."

"And you wandered to a _hospital_ of all places! You hate hospitals! You did not trust me in my care of you?" Dawson accused hurtfully.

Basil looked down sheepishly, fiddling with the blanket covering him. "It wasn't that way at all, Dawson. I came here knowing how seriously ill I was. As I explained, I was looking out for you."

"Basil," Dawson was growing increasingly frustrated in trying to uncover the mouse detective's motives. "You could have trusted me enough with caring for you."

"The flu is highly contagious. Once I became aware of that, it was imperative that I remove myself immediately from our lodgings at Baker Street, or risk infecting you. Then who would care for us?" Basil reasoned.

"Do you think I _care_ about catching something so trivial?" Dawson demanded angrily. "You endangered yourself and others by wandering outside in a delirious state! You could have tackled any common mouse right to the ground if you believed they were an enemy. You certainly did me!" At this news, Basil looked surprised at his own actions, unaware he had ever done it. "You could have been crushed by a cab on your way here, instead of staying safely in our rooms. I would have more than cared for you, _I_ am your physician!"

"Dawson," Basil began hesitantly after a long pause. "I am incredibly sorry for the trouble I've caused you. I thought this was the best thing to do, so-" he dissolved into coughs, sounding just as bad as he was before, despite medical care.

"Basil," Dawson smiled and shook his head. "I know you are a most independent sort of mouse. I know you do not like taking anyone's help, even when you sorely need it." Dawson said pointedly, meaning that Basil needed a great deal of help at the current moment. "But I am your doctor, your friend, and I cannot let you crumble under the weight of your own stubbornness. I am here to help you, and you must let me. When it comes to health and medicine, I am the expert."

Basil nodded slowly in understanding. "May I ask for your help now?"

Dawson pulled out a thermometer. "This time, no talking."


	9. Epilogue

"But… but, Basil!" Dawson sputtered. "You should have simply just _told_ her you were feeling ill. Certainly she would have-"

"I couldn't have turned her away, Doctor. She needed my help." Basil practically fell into bed, a look of pain crossing over his features. "But now I am positively exhausted…" Basil coughed out the word, complexion paling as he laid back on the pillows.

"Basil," Dawson shook his head, grateful the detective was finally listening to reason and putting himself to bed at the first sign of feeling unwell. It was an improvement over Basil's usual stubbornness, but it wasn't enough for him to recover already exhausting his strength. "When will you learn not to overwork yourself? You were weak and ill _before_ you foolishly volunteered to help the young lady."

"Dawson," Basil sighed heavily, gasping just a little as he tried to catch his breath. "That's precisely it. She needed my help."

As his friend fell fast asleep, cheeks flushing once again with a slight fever, Dawson smiled in spite of himself. He could be upset and argumentative with Basil about his obsession to overwork himself, but in the end it would never do any good. Basil was absolutely selfless when dealing with a client, for he oftentimes risked his very life in the face of danger to solve a case. Whereas most others might say it was Basil's love for the game and idolization of his hero, Dawson knew differently.

For here was the Great Mouse Detective, fighting exhaustion, a fever and the beginnings of a cold after an already serious illness, all for what? For the good of his clients. Time and time again Basil would always see a case through to its end, no matter how terrifying or gruesome, no matter what harm ever came to him as a result, just so he could give his clients the closure they needed.

"Dawson," Basil murmured as the doctor laid a cool washcloth on his forehead. "Perhaps the next time I am feeling so unwell, it would be better to call off a case?"

Dawson paused, realizing Basil was trying to ask his advice, or maybe even his permission. "No, Basil. That won't do at all. For, as you said, people need you." Dawson poured a glass of water and offered it to his friend, who sipped gingerly before setting it down on the bedside table. "Next time, however, I'd advise you to check in with your _doctor_ before taking any course of action. He can prescribe what's best for his patient."

Basil smiled amusedly. "Doctor's orders, eh Dawson?"

"Quite so, Basil." Dawson smiled gently and took the candle with him to the doorway. Basil was finally taking the steps to get himself better, both now and in the future.


End file.
